


Bad Day

by thegodmachine



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 08:21:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6510283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegodmachine/pseuds/thegodmachine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'What is the worst possible thing that could happen to your main character? Have it happen.'</p><p>Arthur has a bad Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Day

**Author's Note:**

> took a prompt from here: http://fanficy-prompts.tumblr.com/post/52924531803/angst-prompt-what-is-the-worst-possible-thing

There was a loud beeping noise breaking through a cloudy haze in Arthur's head. He groaned in frustration and reached over to his bedside to shut his alarm off. However, he ended up slapping a pillow. This didn’t feel right to Arthur and when he slowly opened his eyes, he felt confusion at seeing a foreign ceiling pattern. Something behind him let out a noise, and Arthur jumped in surprise when the blanket dipped to reveal a fleshy tattooed shoulder. Whoever it was, reached to the bedside that was not on Arthur’s side and shut down the blaring noise.

“Why do you always set the alarm for so early, Darling?” The person asked.

“Eames?” Arthur said startled. Clearly he had not fallen asleep in his own hotel room, but he was having a hard time believing that he had followed Eames back to his.

“Five more minutes,” Eames mumbled and rolled over. He pulled the blanket back and peeked under and saw that he was still in his briefs but all his clothes were gone and Eames was completely ass-naked.

“Oh God,” Arthur mumbled. He wasn’t sure what happened but if he was drunk last night and Eames happened to stumble upon him at the hotel bar, Arthur was quite sure he must’ve made a fool of himself. Eames was attractive—nay, not just attractive, the most gorgeous man Arthur had ever laid eyes on. They had met five years ago when Arthur was still green and fresh out of the military. He wasn’t experienced with dream-sharing and certainly wasn't the suit-wearing, hair-gelled-back point man of today but neither had Eames figured out his image yet. He was young too, like Arthur, and wearing a black tight t-shirt. Arthur could see a tattoo peeking out from under his collar and his muscles through the shirt. His hair was cut close to his head and he was surprisingly clean shaven. Arthur had thought he looked sexy.

Arthur felt a bit dopey upon seeing him, his own cold demeanor not fully realized yet either. Eames had smirked at him and thrown a few flirty lines Arthur’s way. Like an idiot, Arthur was biting. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but Eames blown him away when he began forging disguises. Arthur must have seemed like a groupie and Eames forever chasing fame had loved it. When the job was done and sexual tension was thick and suffocating, Mal and Dom who had taken point had given them both annoyed looks and took the earliest flight out of the country. Eames, however, took Arthur’s hand and liquored him up and then fell into bed with him.

The next morning Eames was gone and Arthur had a bad headache. That was why Arthur hated that he was in bed with Eames today. Paisley-Eames, not t-shirt-Eames, mind you.

Arthur jumped out of the bed and found the bathroom, just as he was about to close the door, he took one last look at Eames who was now sleeping on his stomach with his tattooed back revealed. Because of his clothes, it was usually hard to tell that Eames retained his muscles from his youth but apparently he had.

Arthur closed the door before he made their situation more awkward for himself.

A quick shower later, Arthur was picking his clothes up off the floor in nothing but a towel and Eames was slowly sitting up in the bed.

“That was more than five minutes, Darling,” Eames said. He stretched and Arthur averted his eyes. “Mmm, I like seeing you like this,” Eames said lecherously.

Arthur found his sock, the final piece to his wardrobe, and turned back to Eames feeling a bit more prepared.

“Take a shower, Mr. Eames,” He directed. “Then put some clothes on.” Eames just gave him a smile and slowly crawled from the bed. When Eames was locked away in the bathroom, Arthur moved to the large mirror that sat on the large bureau across from the bed and saw what had Eames smiling: Hickeys and bite marks running a long Arthur’s hips.

He quickly dressed and was further horrified to see the buttons on his shirt were ripped off or barely hanging on. “Fuck, Eames,” He snapped bitterly but also frustrated that he couldn’t remember what happened last night, considering the state of his clothes they must’ve enjoyed themselves. However he liked this shirt and wasn’t amused. He fastened it as best he could and pulled on his vest and jacket. Eames joined him and dressed in his ridiculous pastel and paisley wardrobe, and Arthur was sad to see him cover his body up.

His phone rang suddenly and a quick check revealed it to be Cobb. Their mark was touring one of his factories further out in the country in the early afternoon and he had secured an old barn for them to use for the extraction.

 “Our window is today,” Arthur said. He followed Eames into the kitchen. “Cobb found us a place, also.”

“Wonderful but let me guess, is it another warehouse?” He asked dryly. He had put on the kettle while Arthur talked to Cobb and was currently stirring his tea. He had also turned on the coffee machine and Arthur was grateful to see a cup brewing for him. He hadn't expected Eames to be that thoughtful.

“A barn out in the country,” Arthur said. Cobb, while brilliant, was almost obsessive in his ability to only function out of a warehouse but he suppose a barn was just as uncomfortable as a warehouse for Cobb to function. Arthur had run point for teams who worked out of rented homes and hotels, which Arthur always found preferable. “We should head out.”

Eames nodded and Arthur made to turn and leave the kitchen but in a fit of morning clumsiness, his hip checked a counter and his balanced was thrown. In slow motion, he watched his coffee jump out of his mug and then onto him.

“Shit,” he hissed, as time returned to normal.

Suddenly large hands appeared in Arthur’s view as Eames was at his side in a second, undoing Arthur’s clothes. He had a flash of last night and hoped his flushed cheeks looked like they came from the warmth of the coffee and not from the touch of Eames.

“Are you burning?” Eames asked and Arthur shook his head, stepping away from Eames.

“I'm fine,” he snapped. He walked back to the bedroom while still removing the shaken and stained vest and shirt and was immediately reminded that this was not his hotel room and his luggage was not here.

“No need to make a face, Darling,” Eames had followed him. “Borrow something of mine.”

Arthur couldn’t help but make a face; sorry that he did when Eames smiled wildly at him. Arthur had known Eames for a while and knew the proud caveman side of Eames’ brain was firing on all cylinders at the thought.

“Are you kidding me?” he asked.

“What else do you have in mind, unless you intend to wear your coffee-soaked shirt?”

Arthur sighed and conceited defeat. “Fine, but only until I stop by my hotel.”

“No time, Darling,” Eames looked very proud of himself. “Cobb will have kidnapped our mark by now. You wouldn’t want to keep him waiting would you?”

Arthur didn’t need to check the time to know that Eames was right. He glanced at his ruined shirt knowing he couldn’t wear it and he wasn’t unprofessional enough to screw up their timeline by driving to his hotel for a clean outfit.

“Fuck me, fine,” Arthur agreed.  He turned to the closet and started looking for the plainest shirt. He doubted Eames had anything neutral and as he searched, he was disheartened to find not even a white or black shirt.

Eventually he settled on a tan shirt that was at least a solid color. This shirt was too large and he felt like a child. Eames wasn't taller than Arthur but he was built solidly. Arthur felt like a child playing dress up. There was no way Cobb or Ariadne would mistake these for anything other than belonging to Eames.

 

 

 

They shared a car to the farmhouse. Cobb was already there with Ariadne and their mark who was out cold.

Arthur tried his best not to fidget in the new clothes and draw attention to his outfit. Eames looked obnoxiously smug and Arthur felt the desire to trip him. Instead he marched ahead and slammed the farm door open. Cobb jumped. He had been leaning over the mark who was drugged and sleeping. He glared at Arthur but Arthur just ignored him.

"You're late," he snapped then glanced at Arthur’s shirt. “Your shirt?”

"Don’t,” Arthur said. “And we’re late by two minutes…I don't see Yusuf anywhere."

"He had emergency at his dream den. Turf war of some kind."

"So we're a man down," Arthur sighed.

"Not quite," Cobb said. Arthur felt dread at that. What was Cobb planning? Obviously it was something that he decided not to run by Arthur until after the fact. “I called in a favor with McVoy. He got here early this morning.”

Arthur scowled at Cobb. He hated McVoy. McVoy was a jack of all trade but specialized in extraction. Arthur had worked with him on a job with Cobb years back when Cobb could still be an architect. McVoy had a habit of second guessing and doing supplemental research like he assumed Arthur couldn’t live up to his reputation. By the end of the job, Arthur was close to ripping his hair out. He never wanted to work with that man again. He thought Cobb understood that.

“Actually, here he is…” Cobb trailed off.

McVoy was typing away on his laptop which he had resting on his lap as he sat. He glanced up and gave Arthur a toothy fake smile.

“Arthur! So good to work with you again,” He held out his hand and Arthur, in spite of himself, shook it.

“McVoy,” He greeted.

“I was looking over your research…” He began. Arthur fought an eye roll, wishing he could just go back to bed. “…and of course he had the suspicious element of interaction with well-known dream workers—”

“The Coyle brothers, I know. He has security,” He explained.

“I figured…but something is not adding up,” McVoy nodded the frowned at him. "By the way, what are you wearing?"

"Don't," Arthur snapped.

McVoy wasn't paying attention to Arthur or his notes anymore as his eyes were now fixated over Arthur's shoulders. Arthur glanced over and saw Eames was talking to Ariadne.

"Hello, Eames," he greeted.

'Here we go,' Arthur thought. If Arthur's shrink was Freud, he might say this was Arthur's true reasoning for hating McVoy—

"Alright, Mate," Eames greeted casually as he came over.

"It's been a while," McVoy said. He gave Eames a friendly smile...a too friendly smile. "I heard about what You did on the Mincus Case and I knew I just had to work with you again. They say you're the best forger in dream share."

Arthur couldn't take it anymore and stomped away.

—thankfully Freud was dead.

With everyone present, Arthur began to connect Eames into the pasiv. Eames could do it himself, of course, but at some point over the years it became normal for Arthur to do it for him. Cobb was showing Ariadne how, and McVoy was already plugging himself in. He gave Arthur an inspirational smile like they were close friends, and Arthur fought a shiver of disgust. Like Hell. Once Eames was taken care of, Arthur began to prep himself. He had final thoughts of how McVoy's teeth were too white and how uncomfortable Eames shirt was before he fell asleep.

 

 

 

Arthur opened his eyes and was greeted to a bullet whizzing past his head. Arthur dodged to the side and saw Ariadne crouching there behind the ruin of a destroyed wall.

"This is not what I designed!" Ariadne yelled. She flinched when an explosion went off nearby. "Where are the others?"

Arthur looked around and saw that Ariadne and he were on their own as others were nowhere in sight.

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying 'shit' aloud. No need to panic Ariadne. Their mark was trained which was something the team was prepared for. Like McVoy brought up, his research had discovered connections between the mark and the Coyle brothers: a pair of extractors who sometimes took legal jobs in security—a fact that didn't make them beloved in the dream share community. What his research didn't show was that their mark wasn't trained well which didn't matter as his subconscious seemed completely out of control. A small percentage of the population seemed to have subconscious dream space that was incapable of exterior influence which means no one else's designs or projections could function. None of their plans would work on this mark.

"We'll have to find them. On my count—"

"Arthur!" She cried.

While they were pressed against a crumbling wall, they both failed to notice a projection take aim from behind a broken vehicle but Arthur felt the bullet that entered his side. He immediately pressed into the wound and barely realized that his dream manifestation was still wearing Eames' shirt as blood began to seep out.

"Fuck!" He cried angrily at the pain. The job was going to shit and there was no way Ariadne was going to last much longer in the dream without him. The others were on their own to complete the job. To make matters worse, his research had proved to be incomplete and McVoy had called him on it. He hated that and, still, he was wearing that God damn hideous shirt.

"Eames!" Arthur barely heard Ariadne cry out. Arthur didn't move but heard bullets fire at a distance and then suddenly Eames' face entered his vision.

"Speak of the devil," he sputtered and felt blood dribble out the side of his mouth.

"Darling," Eames greeted stiffly. He removed Arthur's hands from his wound. Arthur's vision was getting blurry but he thought he saw Eames react to the shirt. Eames met his eyes. He laid a hand against Arthur's cheek and a thumb wiped the blood that dribbled down his lips. Arthur blinked rapidly at the gentle touch and then Eames was pointing a gun at his head.

 

 

 

Arthur blinked his eyes open. He sat up quickly and for a moment he reached a hand to his side but quickly shut himself out of that mindset. He was awake. He was fine. He pulled the needle from his arm and got up from his chair to check on the others.

No one else stirred so Eames' arrival must've saved Ariadne. Even Cobb wasn't waking and so Arthur took comfort that they were continuing the job to some success in spite of his failure to discover the status of the mark's mind and his subsequent death within the dream. He checked the mark and saw that his pulse was steady and his eyelids were twitching from hidden eye movement.

With everything fine topside and everything to hell in the dream, Arthur was left in an anxious state. His leg shook anxiously and a loose thread from his borrowed shirt was distracting him. He was of a mind to tug at it and unravel the hideous thing but he imagined the reactions Eames would give him ranging from sadness over the destroyed shirt to lecherous eyes at Arthur's new state of undress.

After ten minutes, his team began to stir. Ariadne woke first. She jolted into an upward position and Arthur half expected her to fall from her chair from the energy infused into her movement. She didn't and helped Arthur as he unplugged the needle from her arm. Behind him he heard Eames stir and across from Ariadne, Dom was unplugging his own needle.

"How did it go?" He asked as he moved to induce the mark with a sedative.

"We got it," Dom confirmed.

Arthur nodded and then had his attention drawn to McVoy who was suddenly at his side with sympathetic eyes.

"A little extra research and you would've gotten there," McVoy said. "Though we were lucky this time, you should be a bit more thorough in the future."

Arthur felt his blood pressure shoot through the roof and shame that these words needed to be said at all. He didn't nod or speak at all but gave everyone one last glance and saw that they were okay...everything was okay—his mistake hadn't cost them a thing—before he abruptly turned and took his leave.

 

 

 

Arthur made it back to his hotel and changed into his own clothes. After that he made his way to the hotel bar and proceeded to get drunk. After enough drinks, he hoped today would be permanently erased from his mind.

“Maybe you should slow down, Darling,” Eames’ voice came from behind.

Arthur was too tired to turn around but didn’t need to as Eames came to sit down beside him.

“Want to get drunk,” He said.

“I can tell, but still, you’ll hate the headache in the morning,” He said.

“I really just want to forget today, Eames,” He explained.

“Oh, it wasn’t so bad,” He said and waved a bartender over for a drink. “This morning was pretty nice.” He smiled.

“I fucked up,” Arthur said.

“Job still got done,” he said.

“McVoy was there and saw,” Arthur continued.

“McVoy couldn’t find his arse with a map,” Eames said. “Who cares?”

Arthur glared at Eames who was seriously not understanding the weight of awfulness that was today. “I had to wear your stupid shirt all day.”

Eames barked out a laugh like Arthur was truly something funny. “You look good in my shirt,” He said.

“Eames,” He whined.

“Oh alright,” Eames agreed and Arthur went for a second sip of his drink. “I agree you look better not in my shirt. In fact, I don’t think I like you in any shirt. This shirt, the one you’re wearing now, is even worse!”

Arthur coughed.

“We should do something about this, get you out of that shirt, Darling,” he said. He had that lecherous look on his face and Arthur was slightly drunk but not too drunk and capable of blushing.

“Oh, alright.”


End file.
